


hey ragazzo [hey kid]

by WhimsicalEthnographies



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, Harley is a little shit, Peter Parker and Harley Keener are friends, Peter Parker speaks Italian, Peter is a Little Shit, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark is something to Harley Keener, Tony is a little shit, or rather understands it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:05:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21902221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhimsicalEthnographies/pseuds/WhimsicalEthnographies
Summary: “Hey, if we can’t swear in English, you can’t swear in Italian,” Peter hops up and flops back into his chair, grabbing his sewing off this desk.  “Bad language is bad language even in a different language.”  On the screen, Harley hums in serious agreement.Tony tosses the scissors on his desk in frustration--the suit doesn’t need repairing tonight.  “You speak Italian, kiddo?”
Relationships: Harley Keener & Peter Parker, Harley Keener & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Steve Rogers & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 12
Kudos: 368
Collections: Fics that make my heart go OOF with fluff, Irondad Fic Exchange 2019





	hey ragazzo [hey kid]

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crownedcriminal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crownedcriminal/gifts).

> Here is my gift for [tipsytonys](https://tipsytonys.tumblr.com//). I hope you enjoy! I literally used google translate so hopefully it's not too off (translations in brackets immediately after--hoping that's not too jarring but I wasn't sure how else to do it as it's important to know immediately what's being said).

“Fuck!” The tiny scissors slip out of Tony’s hands, one sharp point slicing neatly into his palm.

“Jesus, Tony, you’re gonna kiss your daughter with that mouth?” Harley snorts, the holographic image in the middle of the workspace tilting slightly. Behind him, at his own workstation where he’s practicing his stitches (so he can repair his own suit _like a big boy thank you very much_), Peter snickers.

“You’re right, Harls,” Tony deadpans, grabbing a clean rag to press into his hand. “I shouldn’t swear around babies.” He spins and throws a spark plug at Peter, who deftly catches it without so much as lifting his head. “I don’t want to warp your precious little minds.”

“Come on, Tony, I’m 18,” Harley rolls his eyes, then sets his StarkPad in its cradle and goes back to his own circuit board.

“You weren’t when I met you,” Tony pulls the rag away to examine his hand. The cut isn’t too deep; he thinks he’ll live. He should probably double check with Cho when his last tetanus shot was, though. Odin knows the drawer he keeps these in isn’t exactly sterile.

“Jesus, Mr. Stark, we swear all the time,” Peter sets down his swatch of fabric and spins in his chair. He’s not quite skilled enough to actually work on the suit, but they’ll get there. Tony’s teaching him, after all, and Rhodey had been the one to teach Tony after he left bootcamp, so obviously the kid will be a natural in no time. On the screen, Harley rolls his eyes at _Mr. Stark_. Tony doesn’t think he ever called him _Mr. Stark. _He counts himself lucky when Harley calls him _Tony._

“Yeah, I know you have a potty mouth. I’ve still have access to the suit recordings, remember?” He wipes again at his palm. “You and your friends can get quite creative. Michelle says words I’ve never even heard before. Frankly, I’m a little hurt you hold back in person.”

“You should see our group text, _Mr. Stark_.”

“Thanks but no thanks, Harley. I don’t want any more insight into your twisted brain. But as you so kindly pointed out, I think we all need a bit of practice.” Tony pulls a bandage out of the always-open first aid kit on his desktop and rips it open. “Time to get a swear jar.”

“What?” Peter whines, dramatically flopping deeper into his chair and sliding to the floor. “Being able to swear is one of the best parts of coming here! You know May hates it.”

“I’m gonna hate it too when the baby gets here.”

“She won’t understand it!”

“For the first year. I don’t want you teaching my kid the c-word, Parker--yeah, don’t give me that look, I know you little ghouls say it--that’s my job.” Tony looks up just in time to see Harley make a face and jerk his fist at the camera. “And you won’t even be allowed here, Keener.”

“So long as you keep paying your share of my tuition,” he deadpans while Peter laughs. Harley is on scholarship to Carnegie Mellon, but Tony picked up room and board. His mother had hemmed and hawed--just like May did when Tony had informed her of his intent to pay for Peter’s education--but it was the least he could do for the kid who’d helped him during the Mandarin deal. “Pete, I think if you come here he’ll get a discount. And I think he’ll get an extra two-grand back in his taxes.”

“You know what MJ, said, Harley. Billionaires don’t pay taxes.”

“Hey,” Tony lobs another spark plug at Peter’s head, but he deftly rolls out of the way. “I pay my taxes. And I don’t think the Department of Homeland Security would allow you two to be at the same school.”

“Fair,” Harley nods, head dropping to his circuit board again. “We’d put that Thanos-shithead to shame.”

“Ok, no-swearing-baby-practice starts _now._” Tony picks up his scissors, and resumes trying to maneuver them around the stitches and circuits in Peter’s suit. The bandage is heavy on his palm and impedes his ability to maneuver the tiny scissors, and this time they slip and slice through the material of the suit. If he ever finds that Scorpion-asshole who tore it, he’s going to take his head off for this alone. “Figlio di puttana…”

“Hey, if we can’t swear in English, you can’t swear in Italian,” Peter hops up and flops back into his chair, grabbing his sewing off this desk. “Bad language is bad language even in a different language.” On the screen, Harley hums in serious agreement. 

Tony tosses the scissors on his desk in frustration--the suit doesn’t need repairing tonight. “You speak Italian, kiddo?”

“Not really,” Peter shrugs, poking a needle through the fabric in his hands. “Speak it, I mean. But I can understand it, kind of. May used to speak it with her parents. And her father would teach me all the fun words, then give me fifty bucks and tell me not to tell anyone.”

“Nice,” Harley nods. “Grandparents are the best.”

Tony inwardly flinches and looks over at Peter, ready to tell Harley to zip it. May told him he never knew any of his grandparents, and that her parents were the closest thing he’d ever had to them. But Peter doesn’t so much as look up, so he quickly jumps in before Harley can really start running his mouth about grandparents and every other family member Peter no longer has. 

“Well, that is an interesting development…” Tony says lightheartedly. “Peter Parker understands Italian. This could be useful. And fun. We don’t have to worry about Steve climbing up our asses every time I make a joke and you have the decency to laugh at it.”

“Hey!” Both Peter and Harley exclaim.

“First dollar in the swear jar.”

“Nah, he should put fifty in.”

“And I’d like it on the record that you are worse than either of us put together at following your own rules.”

“Fine,” Tony deadpans, plucking an old coffee can full of washers off the floor and unceremoniously dumping them on his desktop. He pulls out his wallet and stuffs whatever bills he has into the empty can. “Consider it official. Harley, I’ll deduct from your dining account as necessary. Peter, I’ll let your aunt know to give your allowance to me.”

“Oh, come on, Tony!”

“Okay, I was kidding, Mr. Stark!”

“Sì, troppo tardi, genio [yeah, too late, genius]” Tony rolls his chair over to Peter’s desk to examine his progress. He hands it over with a pout and a grumble. Swear-jar-in-the-lab aside, Tony thinks this could be _very _interesting. 

*******

The raid didn’t go too badly, all things considered. Peter had been quite the asset, and actually managed to listen to both Tony and Steve, staying on the periphery and sticking to defense. Unfortunately, that defense hadn’t been able to prevent a hunk of smuggled vibranium--which is now on its way back to T’Challa’s stores--from colliding directly with Cap’s right shoulder. 

They’d left Natasha and Sam to clean up while they dragged Steve back to the Quinjet, and now Peter is watching with wide, nervous eyes as he sinks into a seat and groans. Peter jumps as the engines roar to life, practically falling over Tony as they dig in cabinets for whatever first aid supplies might be helpful. The vibranium must have hit just right, for Captain Freaking America actually be injured, and it’s obvious Peter knows this. 

“Calmati, ragazzo, sta solo invecchiando [calm down, kid, he’s just getting old],” Tony nods to Steve and leads Peter over to a cabinet hanging on the far wall. There has to be some ice packs in there. “E ora dobbiamo occuparcene. Nessuno si prende mai cura di me in questo modo quando sono ferito [And now we have to deal with it. Nobody ever takes care of me like this when I’m injured] ... "

“Hey, I would!” Peter looks downright offended as Tony hands him two instant cold packs that state in big bold letters that they expired in 2015. “And Pepper does, and Happy, and Mr. Rhodes, and probably May if we asked her and you were, like, actually dying--”

“Yeah, okay, fine,” Tony waves his hand to cut off Peter’s nervous rambling and starts digging through a second cabinet. This one is more useless in the first; he really needs to do an inventory of what’s on these planes. “Ugh, nothing useful. Who’s job is it to restock these?” Tony has no problem being reckless with Steve’s health, but if Peter is going to be tagging along more, expired medical supplies are simply unacceptable. He turns to Steve. “You think you can hold out until we get back?”

“It’s just my shoulder, Tony,” Steve grits out, holding his right arm against his body. “I’ll live. I’m more worried about Nat and Sam…”

“What’s gonna happen to Nat and Sam?” Peter looks over, eyes widening even more, if possible. “I thought we got everyone?”

“We did, Pete,” Steve grits out. “Just always worry when we leave them behind for clean up.”

Tony blows out a breath and nods, then turns to Peter, who’s growing paler by the second. He’s yet to actually see an Avenger injured, save Tony, and he’d hardly had time to panic about that before being wiped from existence. “They’ll be fine. Steve, d'altra parte ... non dire niente, ma potremmo doverlo mettere giù presto, [Stave, on the other hand ... don't say anything, but we may have to put him down soon]” he pats Peter’s shoulder and winks as discreetly as he can. “Voglio dire, questa non è la prima volta [I mean, this is not the first time]...”

“Mr. Stark,” Peter rolls his eyes, but his shoulders loosen a little and a bit of color reaches his cheeks again. He sneaks a look behind Tony to where Steve is trying to breathe evenly through his teeth.

“Devo guardare al futuro, amico [I have to look to the future, bud],” Tony shrugs, and tosses a useless med pack back on the shelf as the QuinJet lifts off. Thank Odin for self-piloting planes. “ETA about an hour, Cap.”

“Thanks, Tony,” Steve leans his head back and closes his eyes, still blowing out even, measured breaths. That hit must have been something else.

“Just watch,” Tony stands and grabs Peter by the shoulders, pulling him back towards a seat. “Quando torneremo, l'intera vasca sarà piena di ghiaccio per giorni [When we get back, the tub will be full of ice for days].”

“Vasca?” Peter twists his mask between his knees as Tony plops down into the seat beside him. 

“Tub,” Tony reaches out and tugs on the seatbelt above Peter’s shoulders. “And put your seatbelt on.”

“Oh,” Peter grabs the harness strap and pulls it down, refraining from breaking it this time. Tony has gone through more seatbelts than he cares to think about. He’s gotten better, the longer Tony’s known him, or rather, the longer he’s been Spider-Man, but the kid still smashes through anything in his path when he’s panicking.

“Lo negherà non appena atterreremo. Probabilmente non andrà nemmeno in MedBay [he’ll deny it as soon as we land. Probably won’t even go down to MedBay.]”

“Oh, so like you, Mr. Stark?”

“Hey, watch it,” Tony tugs his own seatbelt on when Peter pointedly glares at it. “Ma stai solo a guardare. Domani, cerca di convincerlo a catturare qualcosa con esso [but just watch. Tomorrow, try and get him to catch something with it] ...”

“That’s mean, Mr. Stark.”

“I’m just saying,” Tony shrugs and settles back. Across the way, Steve looks relatively comfortable, or at least isn’t actively grimacing or trying to control his breathing anymore. He looks back at Peter, who’s trying to hide a smile. His face is still a bit pale and his shoulders are still too tight, but he no longer looks like he’s going to vibrate a hole into the side of the plane. Mission accomplished. “About 45 minutes out.”

****************

“You good?” Tony sent Peter off with orders to shower and _try_ to go to sleep when they landed, then immediately followed Steve down to the Medbay. 

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Helen’s got the good stuff,” Steve grunts and leans back into the gurney in the Medbay. Cho didn’t even bother to put him in a private room; whatever it is will probably need imaging and a sling and then he’ll be on his way.

“Best part of coming here,” Tony claps his hands and turns toward the door. “Alright, I have an antsy seventeen-year-old I need to staple into his bed, so call if you need anything…”

“You know I speak Italian, right Tony?”

Tony starts and turns around in the doorway. _Shit_. He forgot, too preoccupied with an injured Captain America and a Peter who was slowly starting to panic and is always somehow harder to control when he’s trying to hide the fact that he’s panicking. 

“Oh, yeah. And French and Spanish and whatever else you got in there,” Tony waves his hand nonchalantly and steps back into the room, pulling open a random drawer and rifling around inside. It’s boring; there’s nothing in there but some gauze and a few wooden tongue depressors. “But, it calmed the kid down, I thought he was gonna jump out of the plane.”

“Oh, it was pretty brilliant, actually. Didn’t know he can speak Italian.”

“He can’t, really,” Tony pulls out an ampule of what looks like ammonium carbonate. Smelling salts for Avengers. “Speak it, I mean. But his aunt did with her parents and he can understand it. That was a surprise.”

“I hope a good one?”

“Clearly.”

“He did good, Tony,” Steve says earnestly, pushing himself up on the gurney. “Soon that kid is gonna be giving us orders.”

“Of course he did good,” Tony slams the drawer shut, perhaps more forcefully than he intends. He knows Steve doesn’t mean anything but what he said: Peter did well. And he did. Peter is the best of them, although Tony wishes he had more time to be proud after missions, rather than running around cleaning up some mess or another.

“Couple more years, he’s gonna be better than all of us.”

“He already is. But college first,” Tony crosses his arms and leans back against the counter. The look on Steve’s face is genuine, if glazed a bit by the shot of pain medication the nurse had given him.

“Yeah, from what I’ve read about modern American universities, somehow I don’t think that’ll help him calm down,” Steve chuckles, then tries to roll his shoulder. “Nope, bad plan,” he exhales hard through his teeth. 

“Yeah, you should really wait for Cho to come back here. Or Bruce. Or at least until those meds really kick in.” Tony shifts from one foot to the other, trying to figure out how to ask Steve not to blow the Italian-thing without sounding like a jealous, petulant child. “Hey, about the Italian thing--”

“Oh, don’t be sorry,” Steve laughs, then grimaces and tries to straighten his back. “It was pretty funny. I love your Steve-is-old-jokes.”

“Of course it was funny,” Tony rolls his eyes. “And I wasn’t apologizing, I--”

“I won’t tell him, Tony,” Steve smiles. “Unless I have no other choice.”

“When on earth would you have no other choice but to tell Peter you understand Italian?”

“Well…” Steve pauses, stares hard at his knee, then shakes his head. Tony thinks maybe the pain medication has finally kicked in for real. “I’m sure there’d be some kind of emergency. Although you might wanna let Nat know, too.”

“Hey, she’s been smart enough to keep her mouth shut so far.”

“I’d still confirm it, Tony,” Steve’s gaze shifts to something on his other knee; he looks like he’s about to pitch over. The sweet spot. “Besides, I don’t think his poor heart could take it. Kid’s got a bigger guilt complex than you do.”

“Unfortunately,” Tony pushes off the counter. “But, it’s--you know, it’s more than that--”

“I know,” Steve manages to stop staring at his knee and looks Tony directly in the eye, in that piercing way that always makes him feel like he can see straight into his soul. It’s unnerving. “Something just for you.”

“Thanks, Cap.”

“Prego [you’re welcome], Tony.”

“Va bene, fantastico [okay, great],” Tony tosses the ammonium ampule at Steve and watches as it bounces off his uninjured shoulder. 

“Digli che tornerò all'allenamento in pochissimo tempo [tell him I’ll be back to training in no time].”

“Oh, he’ll be thrilled!”

“Hey, at least he’s starting to get worried now. A few months ago he’d have insisted I was too far gone and you should leave me. He’d point out some invisible vulture circling as proof.”

“Baby steps!” Tony pops two thumbs up and moves towards the door. “And hopefully next time Barnes will be around to be the one to coddle you.”

“Yeah, I’d prefer that too, Tony,” Steve laughs again, but this time, he doesn’t grimace. Time to leave the good captain alone.

“Ciao, capitano,” Tony salutes, and steps out the door to the sound of Steve still laughing behind him. He pops on his glasses as he reaches the elevator. 

“Ehi, regazzo [hey, kid],” he says as soon as FRIDAY connects into Peter’s bedroom, where he’s hopefully showered and ready to turn in, or at least reading the thick novel his English teacher had assigned the previous week. 

“Yeah?” Peter’s voice filters through the tiny speaker on the arm next to his right eye. He sounds calm, if exhausted. His television is playing in the background.

“Cap potrebbe non farcela. Ci sta lasciando in eredità tutti i suoi beni mondani. Sam ottiene lo scudo ma tu hai dibs successivi [Cap may not make it. He’s leaving us all his worldly possessions. Sam got the shield but you have next dibs]…”

Peter’s laughter joins with Steve’s from down the hall as the elevator door closes.

**Author's Note:**

> If you don't mind a blog that consists of shitposting, misunderstanding the memes all the kids talk about today, Johnlock conspiracies, and occasional MCU screaming follow me on the tumblr dot com [whimsicalethnographies](http://whimsicalethnographies.tumblr.com/)


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